Brilliant Starlight (Dark Planet Warriors Book 8)

by Anna Carven

  “Leave?”

  “There is nothing left for your kind here. Leave. Return to Krunia. You will not be stopped.”

  “How can we trust the word of a devil like you?”

  “You can’t. You can only try to do what’s in your best interests. Understand this, rebel. I want this little insurrection finished, now. I don’t want to hear of any more dissent. I don’t want to hear of any more killing. I want you and your followers gone from here.”

  A sudden weariness overtakes me, and for the first time in my life, I feel as if I am getting too old for this shit. I pause in front of a particularly intricate abstract sculpture, fingering its carved black-and-grey stone tendrils. They twist together to form a menacing spire.

  The Soldar stares at me in shock. His pale eyes are filled with mistrust.

  “I have warships in Krunia’s orbit.” My voice is soft and devoid of emotion. “They retain full military capability.”

  Kordolian warships can decimate planets. It’s common knowledge.

  “You would not dare—”

  “I have no intention of attacking Krunia.”

  “Then why do you continue to threaten us? Why do you feel the need to place your ships within striking distance of our planet?”

  I remain silent, allowing him to come to his own conclusions. It takes a moment for the implications to sink in.

  “I will not cause trouble for your people,” I say quietly as fear and doubt battle for prominence on the Soldar’s grey-scaled face. “In return, I expect that you will not cause trouble for me.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, and that’s exactly how I intended it.

  In the distance, a barrage of plasma-fire punctuates the silence. The pain in my temples grows, and white spots flicker across my vision.

  The Soldar is staring at me in disbelief. His righteous anger is gone, replaced by slowly dawning realization.

  “This ends now,” I growl, my patience wearing thin. “The Empire may be in ruins, but it is I who decides who will take the reins of power. You will not cause any more disruption on my planet. Heed my words or suffer the consequences.”

  I could kill him right now. It would be the easy solution, but it would not achieve the long-term outcome I desire.

  Death is a scar that never heals.

  I want the bloodshed to end. I want no reprisals and no revenge killings. I want the slave races to see Kythia as nothing more than a cold, dead lump of rock. They should all leave and never return. There is nothing for them here but memories of misery and suffering.

  Before the Soldar has a chance to answer, my comm buzzes, alerting me to an incoming message. “What is it?”

  “Sir.” It’s Jeral of the First Division, sounding oddly formal. The skin on the back of my neck prickles. Something serious must have occurred for him to be contacting me directly from Silence. He would not risk compromising our location for a trivial issue.

  Silence hangs in an undetectable ‘silent pocket’ just below High Kythian Orbit. Our external communication lines are secure, but not entirely untraceable.

  “There’s a problem.” Jeral seems hesitant. That’s unlike him. Hesitant is not a word I’d use to describe any of the First Division warriors under my command.

  “Spit it out, Jeral.”

  “It’s your mate.”

  “What?” The pain in my head becomes an afterthought. The Solder standing beside me becomes an insignificant nuisance. The stone sculptures around me fade into the background.

  My reality shrinks and narrows, and I can only think about one thing.

  Abbey.

  “What has happened, Jeral?” My voice sounds foreign to my ears. It’s hoarse and tinged with desperation.

  “She’s sick.”

  His words hit me like plasma bolts, scrambling my thoughts and generating a strange dull ache deep within my chest.

  Sick? It’s impossible. She has the machines inside her. Tiny, disease-killing nanites that repair tissue and suppress inflammation. She’s supposed to be near-invulnerable, like me. I can’t afford for her to be sick again. I can’t…

  I squash the downward spiral of dark thoughts before it threatens to consume me.

  “She’s in the med-bay. Seems like some sort of chest infection, but it isn’t straightforward. They’re still trying to figure out what’s wrong with her.”

  “How long has she been there?” To my surprise, I manage to sound halfway calm, despite the sudden frantic fury coursing through my veins.

  “Barely a siv. We thought it best to contact you immediately, boss. Thought you should hear it straight from one of us.”

  “You were right to do so.” I fight to regain control of my emotions, forcing myself to think like a soldier again. There is a fine line between righteousness and recklessness.

  If any of my men knew how compromised I am right now, they would disown me as their commander. She does that to me. She makes me walk the narrow path between doing what I want and doing what is best for my people.

  So far, those paths have intersected, but as time goes on, I find myself veering more and more towards selfishness. Abbey and Ami come first. I would burn down kingdoms for them, and that makes me dangerous.

  That is why I need to retire. After this is over, I will step back into the shadows and let the pieces fall where they will. All I’m doing now is giving this dying civilization a… shove in the right direction. A ‘kick in the ass’, as my mate would say.

  I open my hand and find a shard of polished stone in my palm. I’ve absently snapped a stone tendril off one of the sculptures.

  “Jeral,” I say slowly, turning the piece of stone over in my hand, “how serious is it?”

  “She’s been put in isolation. She’s stable for now, but they’re still running tests. I can’t tell you much more until the medics give us something concrete. She, uh…”

  “What, Jeral?”

  “She said to tell you not to worry. That she’s fine, and that you should do what you have to do on Kythia before rushing back. She didn’t want us interrupt your mission in the first place, but we overruled her.”

  “A sensible decision on your part.” My men know me well enough by now to know that I do not compromise when it comes to my Human wife. Those of the First Division who have also found their mates understand this especially well. “I will return immediately.”

  Our business here is just about concluded, anyway.

  “Jeral,” I say, almost as an afterthought.

  “Yes, boss?”

  “If anything changes, you are to inform me immediately and without question, no matter what she says.”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of keeping anything from you, Sir.”

  It’s not that I don’t trust my incredible Human wife, but she has a tendency to want to try and solve problems by herself. She isn’t the type to expect help, and she hates being a burden to others. She is magnificently capable, but there are some things that Humans cannot contend with on their own.

  With all their sophisticated diagnostic technology, my medics have not yet figured out what is wrong with my mate. That makes me uneasy.

  Very uneasy.

  It makes me want to get back to Silence right away.

  I have already come close to losing her once before. This time, I need to do everything in my power to eliminate all threats to my family. Now more than ever, I need total control.

  The Solder rebel hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s been staring at me like a wary varhund, his anger and violence kept in check by the fact that he’s in the presence of his master.

  I glare at him. “Remember, Soldar, you are no longer a slave. The Empire is finished. Return to your home and let bygones be bygones. Do not trouble my people any longer, or you will live to regret it.”

  I toss the piece of stone. It lands in the gravel at the feet of the Solder, lodging in the ground like a spear. He jumps in surprise. “W-we will accept your terms,” he says quietly.

  “Good.” I leave
him alone in the stone garden, certain that this little uprising is finished.

  Chapter Seven

  Tarak

  “Where is she?” I storm into the med-bay, and people in white robes scatter before me.

  The lab techs and med-assistants disappear, leaving the on-duty medic to face me alone. Silence has taken on two senior staff medics to make up for Zyara’s absence. Because she has become mated to a Human and is involved in other projects back on Earth, I granted her leave to stay behind.

  I can’t see Abbey anywhere. She’s not in any of the recuperation pods. She isn’t in the stasis tank. There must be a fucking good, rational explanation for this, but I am far from rational when it comes to matters relating to my wife.

  I need to see her, now.

  My headache hasn’t abated. It’s worse than ever, and tension fills every nerve, every muscle, and every bone in my body. My heart is hammering. My breathing is rapid. I resist the urge to curse.

  Kaiin’s Hells. I never get like this.

  “Joran.” I regard the young medic with an impatient glare. Although I am of a similar height to him, we are a study in contrasts. There is nothing military about him. He is lean and long-limbed, and with his long white robes and his pale hair tied artfully in a high knot, he radiates a quiet kind of grace.

  Joran is what I call a ship medic. Unlike the combat medics who are sent to work in the field, Joran fits in perfectly amongst the complicated machines and monitors of the med-bay. He is a scholar, not a warrior. I doubt he has ever raised a weapon in anger.

  “Where are my wife and daughter?”

  “Sir.” Joran offers me a slight bow. He isn’t familiar enough with me to drop the formalities just yet. “The child is being cared for by the other Human women. Your mate is in isolation.”

  Isolation. It sounds so cold and remote, like some sort of cursed prison cell. Abbey does not belong there.

  “My daughter is fine?”

  “She underwent a thorough examination scan. We couldn’t find anything wrong with her. Your wife requested that we discharge her into the care of the Human women. Her instructions were quite specific.”

  Relief courses through me. Ami has already been sick twice. Both times, it was a brief illness that affected her chest and throat. Abbey assured me that such things were normal, especially for Human children, but I was unable to rest until Ami’s symptoms were gone.

  I am vicious in battle and ruthless in war, but my daughter holds an unholy power over me. Witnessing her catch a ‘little cold’, as Abbey called it, was torture.

  So I thank the Goddess that she is safe and cared for. Abbey has made it clear to me that she trusts the other women completely, and I am satisfied with that.

  My wife, on the other hand… I sense Joran is holding something back, and that makes me frantic.

  “Take me to her,” I say, not wanting to waste any more time. “And tell me why you suspect a contagion when she has been onboard Silence this entire time.” I am no medic, but this does not make sense to me. No-one else onboard the ship has been sick. Why would Abbey suddenly catch an infection?

  “Sir, she has had significant hemoptysis, persisting arthralgia, and a high fever. She’s tachycardic. Her blood pressure is labile. We still haven’t identified a pathogen, and confirming my current working diagnosis is a complicated process. I would suggest that we refrain from—”

  “Medic,” I say softly, closing my eyes and massaging my temples for the second time. “Start walking to wherever it is that you are holding her, and speak in plain Kordolian. I do not understand half of what you just said, and it is your job to help me make sense of the situation. Do not keep me from Abbey any longer, because I have just returned from a long and difficult mission, I am worried sick about her, and my head is fucking killing me.”

  “Do you need an analgesic, Sir?”

  “Joran.” The low warning growl that escapes me is a reflection of my bad mood. “My mate. Now.”

  “Y-yes, General.” He turns and gestures for me to follow. “I’m just waiting on the results of one particular test. As soon as I have the data, I hope to be able to explain everything to you. Please have patience. Since she is in isolation, you will have to take the necessary precautions if you want to see her.”

  “Precautions?” My ears twitch. I get the sense that Joran is one of those ‘stickler for protocol’ types. “Do you forget what I am?”

  I don’t get sick. Ever.

  And I am seething inside. If I don’t get to see her soon, I will tear this fucking place apart.

  I don’t tell Joran that, though. I keep it together for Abbey’s sake, because she needs me to keep it together. If she has to remain in isolation, then I will stay with her in isolation until this thing—whatever it is— is fixed.

  Chapter Eight

  Abbey

  There’s something warm around my hand. Most of the pain in my chest is gone, thanks to the Sylerian the Kordolian medics have injected into my veins. They’ve put me on an infusion, too. I don’t know what it’s for—they still haven’t explained anything to me—but at least I’m feeling better.

  The urge to cough out my damn lungs is gone. A dull pain has spread throughout my body. It’s worst in my hips and knees, but at least the Sylerian has taken the edge off.

  I get the feeling I’ll live.

  The warmth around my hand tightens. Large, callused fingers are caressing my palm. I squeeze and he squeezes back, enclosing my hand in his strong, rough grip. He’s careful not to disturb the infusion port they’ve inserted into the back of my hand. The port has a node that monitors my blood and sends information back to the medic’s analysis machines.

  My eyes flutter open and the dimly lit room comes into soft focus. Like all the rooms onboard Silence, this one is dark and oblong-shaped. Although they’ve added lighting purely for my benefit, it’s still claustrophobic. Over time, I’ve gotten used to Kordolian architecture, but this so-called ‘isolation chamber’ feels more oppressive than usual, probably because it’s so small and spartan.

  I get why they’ve put me here, though. I could be infectious, although my dear husband doesn’t care one whit about that.

  Tarak’s sitting on the floor beside my sleeping pod, resting his head on its soft surface just beside me. He threads his fingers through mine. I caress his soft hair with my other hand, tracing little circles through his cropped locks. My fingers graze the subtly raised points where his horns are supposed to be, and I wonder if he’ll ever be able to grow them back.

  “In peacetime,” he always tells me whenever I bring up the topic, as if that point in time isn’t too far away.

  “Hey,” I murmur, wondering if this is all just a pleasant dream. “That was quick. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

  “You cannot expect me to stay away when you’re sick, my love. That would be… unacceptable.” He lifts his head and looks up at me, his crimson eyes glittering with their usual intensity. “Were you feeling unwell before I left? You should have told me.” His words are soft, but there’s a stern note of censure in his voice.

  “Honestly, I felt fine. This all came on so suddenly.” I try not to sound worried, but this whole situation has me spooked. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable, even with the Big Bad by my side.

  This isn’t one of those times when he can just pull out his vicious Callidum blade and vanquish our foes. This is sudden, insidious, and unexpected.

  And it’s bad, bad timing. My fierce Kordolian mate is supposed to be sweeping up the scattered ashes of a fractured Empire, and this comes along. Damn this fragile Human body of mine.

  “I am here now,” he murmurs. He’s trying to be reassuring, but his voice is low and edged with tension. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and his features are more severe than usual.

  The differences are subtle, but I know my husband too well. He’s stressed. Frustrated. Tired.

  He needs a long, slow massage, and then some. I could use some of that, too
.

  “The sooner we get you out of this cursed isolation, the better. I do not like the fact that you are separated from our daughter.”

  “Be patient,” I say, massaging the back of his neck. It’s a mass of rigid muscle and hard knots; he’s so damn tense. “Let the experts do their thing. Besides, I left Ami with the girls. They’ve spent enough time with us that they know all her quirks. She’ll be fine.” Although I sound like my usual confident self, my chest aches a little. I hate being separated from my Little Monster.

  Tarak responds with a dissatisfied grunt. I get it. He’s used to being in control, and when he can’t immediately fix a problem, it throws him way off-kilter.

  He’s a total control freak. It comes with the territory.

  A gentle chime echoes throughout the dark chamber, and moments later, the door opens, its interwoven black tendrils disengaging to reveal the medic, Joran. There’s something in his hands; a cartridge of some sort.

  There’s a small decontamination airlock between this chamber and the outside world. Joran would have donned his protective suit in the airlock as he stepped through. It’s a flexible, armor-like outfit, complete with a helmet and transparent face-plate, and it’s black, like just about everything the Kordolians make. I suspect their lack of appreciation for color has something to do with living on a lightless planet, or maybe they just like black for its sexy-cool factor. Whatever the reason, the getup makes the Kordolian medic look more alien than ever, and I’m reminded once again that I’m a long, long way from home.

  Tarak isn’t wearing a protective suit, and I can’t imagine him possibly needing one. As Joran approaches, Tarak squeezes my hand in silent reassurance, making no attempt to move from my side.

  The commander of Silence is sitting on the bare floor with my hand resting on his neck. It’s such a casual, intimate position; the kind of thing couples do behind closed doors when they’re chilling out together. When Tarak does it, he reminds me of a barely-tamed lion.

  Joran regards us with a wary look. He clears his throat nervously as my husband watches him in that silent-still-scary way of his.